


Runaway Sutcliffe

by TokyoDAZE



Category: The Beatles
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, France (Country), Gen, Klaus is the fifth Beatle, Letters, On the Run, Paris (City), Running Away, most of the characters dont show up until chapter 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-14 18:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9197759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TokyoDAZE/pseuds/TokyoDAZE
Summary: Stuart Sutcliffe runs away. Klaus Voormann plays bass guitar in the Beatles. Two AUs in one fanfiction? Why the hell not?In April 1961, Stuart Sutcliffe decides to run away from Hamburg so as to escape the unsettling life of teddy ruffians and focus on his true love—art. In his place, the band quickly recruits Klaus Voormann to play bass while Paul remains on rhythm guitar, searching for Stuart all the while. Will they ever find their lost artist?





	1. April 21st, 1961

**Author's Note:**

> Summary is dumb, I know. I'll think of something better... probably. Anyway, the first chapter is short and mostly written in letters. The next chapter will have more action in it, I promise. Hope you enjoy... :)

_Journal - April 21st, 1961 - Hamburg, Germany_

_  
I can’t fucking take it anymore._

_  
I’ve only been here for… a year now, maybe a little longer, but… it feels like forever. Like I’m going to be stuck here forever. I can’t stand it._

_  
Maybe I would feel differently underneath different circumstances. Like… if the others—the other members—weren’t so cruel to me. Or if I could spend more time with Astrid. Or if John… if John would just fucking let me go._

_  
I want to leave the band. I already brought it up with them, but he wasn’t having any of it. He didn’t care what anybody said. He wanted me here. But I don’t. I want to paint. I always wanted to paint, but being here forbids such a need. I love John, and I understand how he thinks, but there’s only so much I’m willing to go through for him. And I’m at my limit._

_  
Please just let me go._

  
\---

  
_Journal - April 23rd, 1961 - Hamburg, Germany_

_  
Even with my extensive vocabulary, I could never truly convey how much it hurts to stay. I only have a few moments to myself to write each night nowadays, and even such precious moments are stolen away, often from dirty Hamburg slags that want a piece of me. They’re getting persistent. I don’t like that. Astrid is the only one for me now, and it will stay like that until time reaches its dusk._

_  
Astrid. My queen, my darling, my angel of angels. My anchor in the unrelenting hurricane that is Hamburg, Germany. I will never know, truly, how she has lived all her precious life in this god-forsaken city._

_  
I feel so bad for what I am about to do. But I know that, with or without darling Astrid, I can’t stay here._

_  
I snuck out and bought myself a train ticket to France. One-way, no returns, straight into Paris. I’ll leave and start a new life. It sounds so arbitrary, the way I’m writing it, but I really, really can’t stay. I want to get away from the band. If I go back to England, they might find me. If I stay in Germany, they still might find me. So France it is. And I’ve always wanted to go there anyway._

_  
I’ve started packing already. Hopefully the others don’t notice. My French isn’t so good but then again neither was my German when I first got here so I know I can do it. I’ll go by a different name. I’ll get a small flat or hotel room and I’ll start painting right away. Just small things I can sell on the streets to get by. And I’ll go from there._

_  
I leave Hamburg tomorrow night, and with it I leave the anguish that has ensnared me since I came into this city. I’m so sorry, Astrid. I hope, if we ever meet again, that you are not angry with me for this. I promise I will make it up to you. Goodbye._

  
\---

  
Slowly, Stuart climbed up the steps to the Hamburg train station, one hand furled loosely around the railing and the other tightly gripping his belongings. The air was cold, despite the season, and a shiver lapped at his spine. It’ll definitely be warmer in France, he told himself and pushed on, the sunset peering over the station.

  
After he spent several minutes navigating the station, Stuart found the platform where his train was waiting and boarded quickly. Thankfully, he had gotten a seat that would make it difficult for him to be seen from the outside. The chances of somebody coming to the station to look for him were very low, but he felt safer anyway, so he took out his journal and began to write.

  
_Journal - April 24th, 1961 - Hamburg, Germany_

_  
I’m on the train now. It hasn’t departed yet, and won’t for a few more minutes. I’m looking around now… there aren’t many people. An elderly couple near the front of the car, some soldiers scattered about, and a sleeping man in the seat across from mine. But that’s all. Thank goodness—I can’t stand crowds._

_  
I left very quickly. I took everything with me—letters, drawings, pencils, clothes… everything. I even have my bass and amp… though I don’t intend to keep them. Once I get to Paris, I’ll sell them so I have money for a place to stay. I didn’t want to leave something for the others to hurt over. Stuart Sutcliffe is gone now. He was never in Hamburg, Germany._

_  
I did leave a small note, I guess. I placed it on top of the pillow of the bunk I slept in while I was resting with the band. Nothing big or sappy, just a little information. That I was no longer part of the band and that I’m leaving. That I’ll be okay and that they don’t have to go looking for me… That they don’t have to deal with my holding them down anymore. But nothing more. I wonder if leaving a note would’ve even changed anything. I’m gone now and whether or not they know I’m alive… it feels cold to say it, but I don’t think I’ll ever see them again. Not in person, anyhow._

_  
The hardest part was leaving without telling Astrid. I gave her a little music box earlier, which I bought around the same time I got my train ticket. It plays Love Me Tender by Elvis: my signature ballad reserved just for her. She was so happy and full of joy… I felt so guilty to know I would be breaking her heart this evening by running away. I wanted to tell her so much—I even considered asking her to run away with me. But it was too risky. Astrid has more connections in France, and we’ll definitely be found out. And if I told her I was going, there’s no way it would stay a secret that way either. She trusts the band so much, and if they suspect she knows anything, she’ll definitely tell them and they’ll know where I am. So I said nothing._

_  
The doors just closed and the train is starting to move. This is it. I’m leaving for good. I feel very scared and there’s a brick of ice lodged in my chest, but there is no more going back. I’m ready to give up this city and move onto Paris just as a soul departs from one life and enters the next. The train is speeding up now. I’m so sorry. Goodbye, Hamburg. Goodbye, Beatles. Goodbye, Astrid. Goodbye, Stuart Sutcliffe._


	2. April 24th, 1961

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoooo, here we go, chapter 2! This one has a POV of the people Stu left behind and more action, too. So go ahead and have fun.
> 
> Please give kudos if you enjoy this chapter, and I'd always appreciate if you'd comment, even if just to tell me how much you hate the story, hehehe.

“Not with you…? The ‘ell ye mean ‘e’s not with you?! Where else would ‘e be?!”

“J-john, bitte… i can not understanding to you because you shouting…”

“Right, John. Give Astrid a break.” George turned to the trembling photographer. “Okay, so Stu is not at your home, either?”

Astrid shook her head, biting her lip and fidgeting in her seat. “N-no, I think—thought… I thought he is with you. Here, in the Kaiserkeller.”

John gritted his teeth and harshly dragged his fingernails over the surface of the table. “Damnit… when I find that artsy twink, I’m going to cripple ‘im…!”

“P-please do not do that!” She cried out.

“Yeah, John. Stop bein’ a prick.” George glanced away and took a long drag of his cigarette. “I’m sure Stu just had something important to do. He’ll be back soon.”

“Yeah, about that…” Paul was approaching the table, Pete and Klaus trailing behind him. He had a small piece of paper in his hand.

“Yer’ back!” George’s eyes widened. “Find anything, sonny?”

“Look at this.” The nancy unfolded the paper and set it down on the middle of the table, then sat down. Klaus and Pete sat down as well. “This is Stuart’s handwriting. I found it on ‘is bed. I didn’t find anything else, though. ‘e really took everything with ‘im.”

“So what’s it say?” John squinted.

_I’m sorry, everyone. I’ve decided to cut myself off from Hamburg. I won’t be playing with the Beatles anymore, so tell Allen that my contract is void now. I need to get away so I can find myself and be with my true love—art. I’m so sorry, Astrid, but you don’t deserve to be troubled by me. So be free now, and we will meet again… in another life. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Please don’t look for me. This is for the best. I won’t hold you down and you won’t hold me back. I hope you understand, so please don’t be mad. Goodbye. —the former Stuart F. V. Sutcliffe_

And the note closed to a cold silence at the table.

Astrid shook violently, her icy fingers tightly clutching the music box in her lap. The blood in her ears made a deafening noise… perhaps to drown out her sobs. “I-i don’t deserve to b-be troubled by y-you…? B-be free now…? Meet again in another life…? I don’t… I don’t understand… I thought… I thought he was happy… with m-me…”

“That little shit…!” John’s voice was a strained hiss. “Gets up an’ fuckin” abandons us and expects us not to be mad? I’ll kill ‘im! I’ll find ‘im and I’ll kill ‘im!”

“It’s a joke… right? ‘e’s not actually…?” George felt his throat close up. “Is ‘e serious? There is no way—there is absolutely no way!”

“Stuart…” Klaus drew in a shaky breath. “Why did he leave Astrid? That’s awful! Sh-she’ll be all alone now!”

“B-but why go? He had something going here!” Pete stared at the note in disbelief. “A good band, a good girlfriend, a good paycheck… why did he leave?”

“Maybe… he was only pretending to like being with us, but really didn’t… so he just got up and went.” Paul had his eyes closed and arms folded neatly on the table, but despite his calm composure, he knew he had somehow played a part in the play of reasons Stu disappeared. That made him feel awful inside… but he wouldn’t show it. “He wanted to paint, and… and I guess being in a band made that hard for him.”

“Bitch!” John snarled and slammed his fist down. “Why didn’t ‘e just fuckin’ quit, then?! That brat could still be ‘ere, living with Astrid at ‘er place, but instead ‘e decides to pull a surprise escapade an’ now we don’t know where the ‘ell his twink ass is! Could be dead already f’r all we know!”

“That would be your fault, John.” Paul’s voice barely wavered.

“... What are you saying, nancy boy?” The auburnet growled coldly.

“You were the one who was always insisting that he stayed. He had already tried to talk with us about quitting, and personally, I would’ve been happy to let him go. You had other thoughts, obviously, and pestered Stu to keep playing with us, even though he didn’t want to. No wonder the artsy cunt picked up his ass and left.” Paul braced himself for the inevitable Lennon-punch-of-destruction that would surely come around.

But seconds pass and none came. The pretty boy opened his eyes and watched as John, lost in thought, slowly lowered his hands and sat down in his seat, glum.

Astrid was biting her lip so hard she was certain she would bleed. She couldn’t imagine her life with Stuart once he had entered it. And suddenly he was gone and she didn’t know how to get him back. Chances were that she would never get him back. She choked on a sob.

“S-so, Paul…” Pete nudged quietly. “Since you hate Stu so much… do you not care that he’s gone?”

“...” Paul inhaled, then exhaled, and slowly closed his eyes once more. “I wish the circumstances were better. There’s no way I’ll ever be able to make up to him now. The reality is, Stuart is gone and he’s not coming back. Moping around over that isn’t going to change anything, so we’ll have to start by filling the hole he just left us with. _Klaus_.” He turned quickly and pointed a finger at the graphic artist.

“M-me?” The maus pointed to himself, startled.

But Paul was firm and held his gaze. There was no backing down now. They were going to the toppermost of the poppermost without Stuart. “Bring your bass tomorrow night.”

\---

_Journal - April 25th, 1961 - ???_

_According to my watch, it’s around three in the morning. I tried to sleep, but the constant buckling and groaning of this rickety old train… is just maddening. This poor machine won’t hold up much longer, methinks. I hope she gets some rest soon._

_I’m rather miserable. I’m exhausted and I’m hungry and right now I have the worst headache. It’s dark now, and only the moonlight aids my eyes as I scrawl down my thoughts. Maybe I’ll sleep eventually once I get these out of my head._

_I remember little Georgie telling me all sorts of tales from when he got deported for working underage. He was all alone on the maze of trains leading back to England. He spent all his money trying to get home, was too afraid to sleep in case his belongings would get stolen. Always hungry, scared, all alone and hopeless. I felt so bad for him then. He seems to have learned and grown from that experience, but I notice he’s always been a little more insecure since then, too. I miss Georgie. He was a little brat at times, but he could be nice too. Nicer than his bandmates, anyway._

_I wonder if my journey now could equate to his in any way. I’m glad my ticket goes straight to Paris. A long ride, but a simple one nevertheless. I would hate to have to carry all my things and transfer from line to line trying to get places. You get lost easily, and sleep evades you all the while because you’ll probably miss your stop if you dare close your eyes._

_Shite, I am just really, really hungry. I wish I had thought to pack some fucking food, or some sweets, at least. I’m thinking about the food in France. I’m certain it’ll be better than German food. Pastries are nice, and so are their candies—bonbon, i think they call it. I fucking love sweets. Good candy is so hard to come by in Germany. I reckon it’ll be easier to find in France. They’re known for their macaroons macarons macaroons maca ugh i don’t know? which I’ve never had, but I plan to. We don’t have those in the United Kingdom. Then again, we don’t have cooked snails, either, but I’ll forget about that for now._

_I just remembered talking to Jürgen a while back. His English is shite, but I know he tried to tell me something about doing photography work in Paris for a while… and I haven’t heard from him since. Fuck! Why did I forget that? I’ll need to be careful. I can’t afford to run into him. Paris is a big city, though. Maybe I can avoid him well. Hopefully he won’t be near where I’m staying, wherever that is. I feel bad for trying to get away from friends, but I have no choice. This is my decision._

_I think I’m tired enough to go back to sleep now. I’ll arrive tomorrow morning in the city and when I wake up, I’ll try to think of a new name for myself so I can start my new life. I’m nervous, but I’m eager as well. I feel as if I cut off a huge burden for good. I know I can become the artist I always aspire to be. No band can hold me down now._


End file.
